Unfulfilled Destruction
by Larki13
Summary: Logan is taking a well-deserved break in Canada when he hears about a "terrorist" bombing attack on Xavier's mansion. According to the news, there are no survivors. What will Logan find when he returns to New York? ONESHOT.


If only he had known.

If only he had saved them.

He should have been able to stop it.

Logan's lonely footsteps echoed throughout the mansion, the usually impeccable hardwood floor blanketed in dust, debris, and a dark liquid which, in the gloomy half-light, had no discernable color. But he knew what it was. Logan could smell it, the harsh, nauseating metallic scent invading his sensitive nostrils with every breath.

With every step, memories flashed before his eyes, the faded colors superimposed over the horrific scene before him, remembering people he would never again see alive, people he would never again talk to. He would never again taunt Scott, would never threaten Bobby, would never tease Ororo or comfort Rogue. He remembered watching the news that morning in the Canadian mountain hotel lobby. The moment Xavier's mansion appeared on the screen his breath hitched, and the receptionist's comments seemed to have faded away, like his life was a television show that someone had just switched to mute. The news anchor's somber voice was the only sound he heard clearly, and it was the last thing in the world he wanted to hear.

"Late last night, a terrorist bombing incinerated Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, a well-known, highly selective boarding school for children of all ages in New York. As of yet, there are no known survivors. More updates on this on the nightly news at six. Stay tuned for news about this horrible tragedy..."

And now at dusk, after a long, desultory day on his motorcycle, Logan had finally arrived. He had hesitated for a long moment before entering the ruins of the once grand building, but decided that knowing the truth was less torturous than imagining the gruesome scenarios.

With each prone body that he passed, the pit in his chest grew, until it seemed that it would swallow him whole and he would simply cease to exist. He had not recognized most of the bodies he had seen, and the ones he could recognize, he could not name. But with every nameless body, the probability that the next body would be someone he knew and loved grew. Finally, his fears became his nightmares when, as he rounded a corner near what used to be the garage, he noticed a dull gleam of ruby red that could only belong to one person.

Scott. His trademark ruby glasses were smashed under his arm, shards embedded in the skin of his forearm, his eyes closed. A deep cut across his forehead was the only other visible evidence of injury, but Logan knew from the unnatural angle of his torso that he had several broken ribs. Even though Logan had never been on good terms with Scott, he would never wish this excruciating death upon him. He would have never wished this upon anyone.

Finding Scott's body seemed to be the breaking of the glass, for after that first discovery, he could name all the bodies he saw. Jubilee. Warren. Hank. Kurt. Storm. Even something he had hoped against hope he wouldn't find; Professor Xavier's wheelchair lay in the corner of his office, overturned and spotted with blood. Xavier himself lay underneath it, trapped and alone in his final moments. The kindly old man could never help another lost mutant, could never hold another meeting, could never teach another class. His blue eyes were glazed in death, blank, utterly lifeless irises like that of a doll. Logan shuddered and tore his eyes away from the unsettling gaze, closing the dead man's eyes gently with two fingers.

There was only one body left to find, and Logan dreaded this last discovery with every ounce of life that remained in his stubborn body. He hesitantly approached the door where he knew he would find her, and tried to open the door. It was jammed, one broken hinge out of alignment that stopped the door from opening. Frustrated, Logan allowed his adamantium claws to break the skin of his knuckles, and ripped through the strurdy wooden door in a defiant "X". He kicked out the wooden panels that remained, claws retreating back into his flesh, and strode through the doorway, his eyes fixed on the body in the collapsed bed.

The young woman's dark brown hair was spread out upon the dirty pillow, fine strands mingled with small chunks of wood, glass and metal. The niveous streaks that framed her face stood out in stark contrast to the dingy grey-brown color of the pillow. Logan's footsteps faltered as he approached the woman, the courage that had carried him through harrowing wars and torture finally failing him. "Oh, God. Marie." he whispered, stroking her hair back from her face. "I can handle losing Storm, and even Xavier. But I can't lose you. Marie, please. Everyone else is gone. Don't be dead. Don't leave me here." he murmured, memories flooding his consciousness.

_Laughlin City. A young Marie, hitch-hiking in his truck, and eating jerky with the simple pleasure that came from enjoying life, something he no longer knew._

_Learning that she was a mutant, and telling her about his own healing factor._

_Protecting her._

Sussurous, minute sounds tore him from his reminiscence, and he grew instantly alert, shooting his claws from beneath his swin with a sharp metallic ring. He scanned the room intently, and, finding nothing, settled his eyes back upon Marie. Nothing happened for several seconds, and he began to think that he had imagined the sound. But then her finger twitched, and then her whole wrist. "Oh my God!" Logan whispered, hope rising fast in his chest where moments before there had been nothing but thick despair. Her eyelids fluttered, and a soft moan escaped barely parted lips. "Lo..." she breathed, so softly that only Logan's enhanced hearing could pick it up.

"I'm here, Marie. I'm here."


End file.
